


this is your way out

by darlathecyborgpluviophile



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Blood and Violence, Connor (Detroit: Become Human) Has a Penis, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Derealization, Dissociation, Extremely Dubious Consent, Glitch Horror, Graphic Rape, Guilt, Gunplay, M/M, Non-Consensual Voyeurism, Objectification, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Praise Kink, Self-Blame, Selfcest, Torture, Vomit Mention, Voyeurism, implied hankcon, light victim blaming, onesided hankcon, well maybe idk i didnt think that far ahead
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-04
Updated: 2021-01-04
Packaged: 2021-03-14 13:21:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,043
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28546263
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/darlathecyborgpluviophile/pseuds/darlathecyborgpluviophile
Summary: There’s a first time for everything,Connor thinks, and closes his eyes. If he complies, his backup’s lethality level will go down. He’ll find a way out of this, to get Hank out of the elevator and to wake up the other androids. All he has to do is relax. He has to relax. He has to let it happen.
Relationships: Connor/CyberLife Tower Connor | RK800-60, Hank Anderson & Connor, Hank Anderson/Connor
Comments: 5
Kudos: 69





	this is your way out

**Author's Note:**

> major, MAJOR TWs here. read the tags, and let me know if anything concise should be added.
> 
> horny brain did this.

**_|| LETHALITY: 87% ||_ **

“It's a pretty boy, isn’t it?”

The gun pressed against Connor’s temple is cold, and it digs into his artificial skin. He’s more focused on Hank though, still pounding against the glass of the elevator with handcuffed wrists. Connor’s seen him plenty upset, annoyed, pissed off, scared – but the look on Hank’s face right now is just plain murderous.

For better or worse, Connor has no dedicated restraints – the Other Connor instead is gripping his own wrists tight in one hand, pulled around his back. The barrel of the gun suddenly jabs into his cheek, scraping against the bone and it _hurts_. He’s had so little time since meeting Markus to get used to all the glitched sensations that deviancy brings with it, including an apparent inability to control his pain sensors.

“It’s a shame you never got to see it blown apart,” the Other Connor continues, flicking his gaze from the gun to Hank. “I assure you, if you think it’s pretty now, you’d love it covered in thirium.”

Hank slams his fists even harder. Connor has to strain his audial processers in order to make out his words:

“Oh _fuck off!_ Connor! Get out of there!”

_**^ LETHALITY: 90% ^** _

He would. He _wants_ to. But the Other Connor’s lethality level is too high, and he doesn’t want to risk failing Markus just because he’s scared.

But God, is he ever scared.

“Thanks to the idiocy of your partner, CyberLife has you both where we want you. I know what’s going on inside that processor of yours,” the Other Connor directs at him, digging the muzzle deeper, Connor letting him. “You’re biding your time. You think you might just be able to get out of this.”

Hank stops banging against the elevator, shows just a moment’s hesitation. The Other Connor snaps it up, like a vulture to carrion.

_**V LETHALITY: 82% V** _

He _grins_.

“Luckily, I’ve already thought up a way to prevent that. And to pass the time, of course.”

Connor doesn’t have time to react before the barrel of the gun is at his lips, demanding entry.

“You might want to open up.”

His backup is no longer awkwardly hovering on his haunches to the side, instead becoming a shadow at his back, fingers ghosting down the length of his spine and up, underneath his coat. Connor tries not to shiver. He keeps his mouth resolutely shut.

He meet’s Hank’s eyes, confused and wide and angry.

 _I’ll be okay,_ he wants to communicate. _I don’t matter. This matters. The revolution matters._

Other Connor presses the gun harder, and Connor can’t help it when his lips slip away and teeth meet the metal.

 _You’re the one who matters_ , he thinks.

“Suit yourself,” the Other Connor says and pain explodes across his face, sending him careening off his knees and into the floor. Before Connor has time to process what just happened, before the details of a damage report can surface in his mind’s eye, his teeth ring and his mouth is full of metal. Hank yells something from the elevator, but Connor can’t make it out over the ringing in his ears.

The gun never leaves his mouth, but Other Connor swings him around from where he’s collapsed, flips him on his back, and suddenly he’s looking at Hank upside down. Other Connor settles in his lap, sitting on his pelvis, and wedges the gun deeper, making him choke.

“You’re going to follow orders,” Other Connor says in that bland, vacuous tone, “and the Lieutenant here will watch. It should be satisfying for him, after all, to see a defective unit put in its place.”

Pain still lingers in Connor’s left cheek, but no extensive damage has been done – so why aren’t his audial processers back online? Hank’s lips form the shape of curse words, but he can barely hear anything. Other Connor pulls the gun out to its very tip just so he can thrust back in and metal scrapes over his plastic teeth, ricocheting pain up into his head again, and again, and again. Thirium-tinted analytical fluid spills out of the far corners of his mouth, dripping in a long, uncomfortable trail down his chin.

It gets worse – the Other Connor’s spare hand returns to the edge of his button-up and dips the tips of his fingers below the waist of his jeans. With a rough _pop_ in his ears, he can hear Hank’s voice again.

“—you piece of _shit!_ Fucking stop it!”

The look Other Connor turns on Hank could almost be read as seductive, though Connor knows he’s not a Deviant. It’s a ploy. It’s an illusion of want that he is using to cause the both of them emotional pain. His hand continues down and curves around Connor’s soft dick, a feature he has not yet had cause to use thus far into the investigation.

 _There’s a first time for everything_ , Connor thinks, and closes his eyes. If he complies, his backup’s lethality level will go down. He’ll find a way out of this, to get Hank out of the elevator and to wake up the other androids. All he has to do is relax. He has to relax. He has to let it happen.

_Crack._

The gun is removed from his mouth, but another hit to the left side of his face sends him reeling, the cords in his neck snapping painfully to the side. Connor’s vision clears and he blinks just as the backup grabs his chin, forcing his gaze upward and into his emotionless brown eyes.

“You’re not allowed to close your eyes, Connor. You’re going to watch this.”

“Yes,” he exhales, an automatic response prepared by his social integration systems slipping through his mouth. He doesn’t _want_ to watch, though. He doesn’t want to be in pain.

Other Connor’s hand has slipped back out of his jeans again, instead making quick work of the button and zipper as he pushes them – and his blank, CyberLife standard underwear – down. Every brush of those fingers ( _his_ fingers, they’re _his_ fingers, but they’re outside of his body and how weird is that, he never thought that it would be another android taking advantage of these features) against his cock makes it swell a little more, and a tantalizingly _good_ sensation tickles against his processors.

“You may not know this, Lieutenant,” Other Connor begins again, that fake smirk and those half-lidded eyes directed up and ahead, towards the elevator, as he strokes Connor’s dick, “but all CyberLife androids are fully equipped with human genitalia and several basic sexual subroutines, should their owners ever want to take advantage of them. It’s not limited to the Traci line.” Other Connor’s thumb swipes over his cockhead, leaking lubricant, and Connor can’t help himself when he gasps at the sensation. He looks down from Hank, and brown eyes meet brown eyes once more. “Has he truly never used you?”

Another stroke, and Connor gasps again, involuntary. “N-No. It didn’t pertain to the invest – _ah_ – investigation.”

“Hmm,” his backup hums in response. Connor only realizes that he’s still wielding the pistol when he drags the barrel along the side of his dick, scooping up a thin string of lubricant. “I find that hard to believe,” the Other Connor continues, drawing the gun back down his length and further, across his balls and settling into the slight hollow between his dick and his hole.

“He never did shit!” Hank shouts. “I never – I never did shit! _Stop!_ ”

**_V LETHALITY: 60% V_ **

Good. Good. Just a little bit longer. He can do this. Connor blinks, staring at the ceiling and resolutely not at his backup when he says, “Well, I suppose we’ll see.”

Then pain is ripping him open, and he can’t help but close his eyes when he screams.

“You sick fuck!” Hank is yelling from the elevator, over and over and over.

Other Connor presses the gun further into his hole, and Connor wills his automatic lubrication process to speed up, to ease the entry. Presently, a triangular warning sign has appeared in the corner of his vision along with text warnings about imminent damage to his anal cavity, the thirium leaks therein. They scramble and skid out of his vision when Other Connor thrusts the gun, and he shouts again in pain.

“Well, it appears the both of you were right. You’re very tight, Connor.”

Hank has no more words. When Connor opens his eyes again, threatening to spill over with cleaning fluid, he finds the Lieutenant slumped, head down, just banging at the glass. That’s good – the less Hank has to see of this, the better. In a perfect world, he’d just ignore all of this happening and _wait_ , and _trust_ him.

“Can you feel all of this, Connor?” the backup asks, and if the context wasn't what it was, he might sound genuinely curious. “I’ve heard that when Deviants attain self-awareness, they lose control of their nervous sensors, including pain input. Can you feel –” he twists the pistol slowly in his hole, ripping new tears into his skin, “– everything –” he jolts the gun again, trying to sink more of it inside, “—that I’m doing?”

The next thrust strikes something deep inside him, and for the briefest of moments the pain melts into pleasure. Connor moans.

**_V LETHALITY: 50% V_ **

“ _There_ we go.” The Other Connor imitates the sound of relief in his tone. Connor’s vision is staticky and blurry with warnings and sensory overload, but he sees a hand (his own hand? whose hand—) come up and rest on his non-damaged cheek, giving it a gentle pat. “You’re being a good android, Connor. A good boy.”

The words are simple and mocking and make his skin crawl, but pleasure curls its way through his systems anyway.

“I’d call you ‘good’ too, Lieutenant,” the backup’s eyes flick up again, “but let’s be honest. You’ve wanted to see it like this since you first met it at Jimmy’s Bar, correct?”

“Don’t fucking listen to him,” Hank says, sounding exhausted and hoarse. “I’d never fucking want this.”

“But your heartrate just spiked, didn’t it, Lieutenant? Your hands are shaking, and your pupils are small and shifty. You can’t lie to me, Hank.”

“Shut the fuck up!” he yells.

Other Connor lazily thrusts the gun in and out of Connor’s hole, and the latter barely notices. Everything is too much. Everything hurts. He has to concentrate on their words, the conversation, and make it through this. The gun abruptly stops, and somehow that hurts worse than the thrusting.

“I have an idea. Something we can try,” Other Connor says, mildly.

The gun leaves Connor’s hole, and the cold, temperature-controlled air of the warehouse is almost soothing against his damaged anus. Against his better judgement, he lifts his head slightly, and sees that his backup’s dick is already out, already lubricated and being stroked heavily by the Other Connor. Their CyberLife standard jeans are pooled together, and Connor can’t tell where his personal effects end and the backup’s begins.

With a final pull on his cock, the Other Connor lowers it, pressing slick and angry heat against his hole. Even just tickling the rim stings.

But he’s smiling.

**_V LETHALITY: 41% V_ **

“Good boy, watching me,” he says, and pushes inside. “But I’d rather you watch the Lieutenant.”

A hand wraps around Connor’s throat, pressing him back to the ground, and the glitching meter in his vision spikes back up.

**_^ LETHALITY: 48% ^_ **

“I want you to say his name,” the Other Connor asserts, and then thrusts. It’s more pain than pleasure, like fire running along the walls of his anal cavity as his backup’s cock tears the wounds open further.

Connor catches his breath. Upside-down, meters away, he can see Hank’s silver hair fall over his face as he looks at the floor of the elevator.

“No.”

The Other Connor pauses adjusting himself inside of him.

“What did you just say?”

Connor doesn’t need to breathe, strictly speaking, but the hand strangling him makes it hard to speak, regardless. “I’m not – humiliating the Lieutenant further.”

The backup cocks his head. Connor meets his eyes through fuzzy error messages.

“It’s not necessary to your outlined mission. I won’t.”

Other Connor doesn’t react immediately, doesn’t betray any signs of anger.

“Alright,” he says, and abandons the gun for the thirium pump in Connor’s chest.

He _yells_. His back arches up, chassis chasing the missing biocomponent. Other Connor just holds it in his hand like a trophy, and resumes the fucking.

**_^͙̼͒͞^̗̦̣̔̔̾ L̪̃Ȩ̡͚͔̻̀͌̅̈́͊T̻͎͍͕̜͋̈́̑̚Ḫ̗̗̩̅̅̏̿͘͜Ạ̹̀̑L̛̪̭̺̂͠I̟̾TY̘͐:̣̯̉̽̀͢ 9̧̟̆͒8̗̯̭̾̈́̃%̩̽̂̏͟͟ ^͚͈̥̰͐̇͘͞^̼͞_ **

**_|̳̦͖̇̊͢͝͞|̪̹͓͑̅̈ TI̢̻̱̿̓͋M̜̼̗̅̚͠E̠̹̓͡ Ư͔̫̻͉̾̅̓Ṉ͒T͈͇͎̽͋̕I͓̼̲͒͊̋L͈͚͌͌͢͡ S͕̘̯̉̿̌H̼͉́͗U͕̱̱̳͉̔͘̚͞T D̫̘̬̝̋́̓͡͞ͅŌ̮͇̎W̧̛̬̰͉̲͛̓̕͞Ǹ̻̈͂͘͢͟ͅ:̡̝̪̞̓̐̚͝ 1̝̿:̨̲͛͊3̡̂0:̻̜̏2̭͔̆̋͟9̲͞|̣͓͎̍̑͛͘͟|̦͎͡͝_ **

Damn it. Damn it, God, it wasn’t supposed to happen this way.

“Say it,” the Other Connor says between pants. The head of his cock nudges against what passes as a prostate inside of him, and Connor’s very voice glitches on the inhale.

“̣H͓͜-H̫͍͇a̙͚̯͟n͚͖̲k̖͕̼̯,̨͓”̬ escapes him, breathy and garbled, but recognizable.

“Good work.”

**_V̡̢͍͎̻͆̇̌̃͛ L̨̈Ẻ̳TH̨̎A̬͚̭̺̋̀̿̋͢L͓̏IT͡ͅỲ̨̥̪̭͖̏̾͒̀:͂͢ 7̙̒5̗̩͖̽̆̊̔ͅ%̭͗ V̪̪͋_ **

**_|͇͙̐̓̓͜|͖͕͋͡ T̰̪̼́̾Ḯ̢̛̼̩̜͇̄͘͠Ṃ̦͍̝̤̆͛̃̆̄E̢̙͇̜̞͊̾̈́̒̈ U͓͉̯̓͆̃N̻̫̑T͕̰̑͆͜I̱̪͓̫͆̑̓͞Ḻ̄ SḨ̼̙͆̎̇͟͠U̟̓T͓̣̪̍͋͐ D͚͎̂͠Ọ̀W̞͍͚͒̕͡N̥̭̽̆:̫̹͌̕ 5͔̥̅̆͜͝9̲̗͛͛:̼͒2͈́͋͢9̛̘|͈̮̇͞|̛̳̝̬͉͖̏̈́̂́_ **

His internal lubricant has kicked in, finally, and combined with the thirium, Other Connor’s cock slides in and out of him with unsettling squelches.

“Again,” the backup says, and there’s almost something garbled in his voice, too. He’s close.

**_|̠̜̏̄̌ͅ|̟͇̜̟͒͑̐̎ TI̛̛̤̞̦͇̥̽͊̂M͎̼̝̻̽̅͘E̛͜ Ṳ̻̿̿͢͠N̛͉̤̂͘ͅŢ͙̕̕I͓͓̤̺̲̓̽̇͛̒L̡͇͋̾͋͘͟ͅ S̩̯̥͑͋̏H̭̦̅͐Ȕ̗̱͓̪̆̿̽T̨̳̹̯̖͌̎̋̋̕ DÖ͍̯͒W̡͓̲͔͊̏̀̚N̬̈́:̡͆ 4̰̹̲̏͌̈5:̛̳1̟͌7̨͉͉̥̊̕̕|̞̏|͇͓̂̂_ **

“̣̥H͉̻̯-̢̝͚͙H̩̻̮a̢̹̙͢-̞̜a̡͚̻͓ͅa̪̼̳an͚̲̳̤k̨̼͍̹͍,̘̗”̤ Connor calls. He can’t hear the Lieutenant’s voice at all anymore. That’s likely for the best.

“Fuck,” the Other Connor mutters, and the swear sounds so out of character, so alien in his own voice. “Fuck.”

**_V̫͞ L͚̝͖̐̚Ẻ̙̳́̓͟T̫̺̄̑H̢̺̔A̟͙̮̽̽̔̚ͅL̨̩͙̪͐̇̓̑͟͝Ï͖̟̕T͔̖̞͎̫̉̅̅̾̍Y̩̯̻͗̂̿:̛̘̱͕̏̈ 6̘̅̉͜5͈͉̄̇%̦̙͍̻̓͆̋̈̈͢ V̡̬͓̰̐̒̈̚_ **

**_V̠͌ Ļ̝̫̑̐̇̑͟ET̻̑Ḩ̙̩̲̎̀̈́͞Ā͖L̲̭̗͛̏͌I͇͓͒̿T͉͕̃̈́Y̨̙̠̫͂̇̅͞:̬̼̜̾͘͠ 5̤͙̳̻́͒̏͟͠͝0̛̘̻%̐͜ V̮̦̳̾̍͋_ **

**_V̹̹̌͑V͖͈̽̓ Ḽ̝͗̄Ẻ͖̱̘̌̃̅͟T̬̮̞͕͐̔̀̔̐͢H̥̎Ȃ̜̗́L̮̳̞̓̑̔̇͢ITY̳͙̞͈̌̈́͠͝:̡̳͑̀͡ͅ 3͐͜8̦̫̪͌̅̍ͅ%̭͘ V͖͉̻̆͞V̳̕_ **

Connor can’t make out any of the numbers in his mind’s eye, but the blaring sirens and the massive red down arrows paint a clear enough picture for his jumbled, malfunctioning brain.

 _“H̱̤͚ạ͖̳̲͢n̳̬̟͟k̥̙̞,”_ Connor breathes again. This time, it’s not to appease the backup; it’s to remind himself why this _has_ to work.

**_|͍͒̃͟|͔̞͎͂̉ T̤̮̳̄̅̉Î̛̱͙̝̺̅̈́M̧̠͐E̘̘̞̐̆̃̐ͅ Û͙Ṇ̫̜̓̎͠T̯͒I̻̦̯̫̓̍̽L͓͂ Ŝ̢̲̀Ḣ̗͔̗̰͎̀͋̈́͞Ự̫̙͍͊̄͆T͙̥̀͘͜͡D̬̘͈͚̾̔̊͞Ò͕͔͔̟̊̔̽W̧̮̭̗̒͒̈́͘N̫͕̠̪̉͊̓͘:̰̳̦̏͐͝ 2̙̖͈̼̭͆̽̏̄͝9̡͈͇̔̓͝:̠̙̿̍2̣̃9̨͇̬͋̿̕͢͡|̧͕̤̳͂͒́̉|̞́_ **

The Other Connor thrusts one final, brutal time, and something _warm_ gushes into him, settling inside his damaged hole. The stinging won’t stop.

But that doesn’t matter now.

With what little strength he has left, Connor jerks his knee to knock the fallen gun up across the floor and out of the backup’s reach while he finishes working himself through his orgasm. Other Connor notices but it’s too little, too late, and Connor’s shaking, twitching hand is scrambling for the pistol and then there’s a too-loud _BANG_ and suddenly—

The movement at his waist stops dead.

**_L̮̘̃͊̊͜E̡͖̭̕T̖͙̽̕H͓̘̝̬̋̔̎̆A̺͕͑͝L̫̹̬̊̐I͖͕͗͐͞ͅT̞͚̉̈Ẏ͈̲̹̚͡:̨̛̛̗̻̥͛͞ 0̧̲̈́͆%̣́_ **

**_|̢̜͗̂|͎̭͆̃̚̕͢͜ Ť͍͙̠̘̈̌͗I͓̱̋̕M͈̟͑̚E͈̰̎̉ U̫̳̔̓N̼͛T̟͔̑̌I̫̳͗̓L̙̘̪̯̑̆̓͘ S͓͙͗̄H͓̋Ṷ̭̒͌Ţ̯̫̭̾̊̕͡Ḓ̨̬̿͛̕Ǫ̋Ẅ͈̣̻́̕̕N̫͉̆͡:̢̫̣̟͋͋̃̐ 1͉̯̺̲͊̄͆̕5̨̫̳̦̠̈͆̍̈́͠:̮̭̆̐0̧̛̺̟̔̈̋ͅ0̖̈́|̠͖̰̝̏̐͆̀|̧̈_ **

His eyelids are heavy. He can’t hear. The pain is still raw and scraping, but he can’t feel much else. Still, he tilts his head back, sees a crumpled form inside the elevator next to a puddle of something awful.

Connor shoots the glass, and stops struggling.

Approximately thirteen seconds later, there’s a heavy _click_ into the center of his chassis, and Connor arches up, able to think clearly again. The shutdown timer whisks itself out of his vision, though the lethality percentage remains, and when hands come down to rest on his shoulders, he thinks it might be the Other Connor again.

“—shit, shit no, it’s okay, it’s me, it’s fuckin’ me—”

Greasy silver hair falls in curtains above him, framing all he can see. He can’t catch every single word that Hank says, but whenever he opens his mouth, Connor can smell something truly vile. He tries to stop shaking.

“Lieutenant,” he starts, and his voice processor isn’t glitching anymore but there’s definitely a lag between his thoughts and his words. “Have you…vomited…recently?”

Hank looks up in exasperation and embarrassment. He rolls his eyes, from what Connor can see.

“You shouldn’t be fucking worried about that, are you kidding me?”

“Lieutenant—”

“I’m so fucking sorry. Damn it, goddamnit what have I done, what kinda fucking idiot—”

“Hank.”

Connor lifts a hand to the face above him.

“You haven’t done anything wrong.”

“ _Fuck you_ I haven’t done anything wrong, I caused – I led him –”

“He’s dead now, Lieutenant. We won. I need to – activate –”

Connor sits up halfway, and every part of his lower body, from the wreck the backup made of his hole to the fingernail tears in the skin around his thirium pump, screams in pain. And even more than that, the Other Connor is still there, curled between his legs, thirium leaking from the bullet wound in his forehead.

He doesn’t continue the thought. He can’t.

Hank supports his back and turns them both away from the horrifying sight, and Connor lets him.

“Shit, kid. We’re gonna fix this. I swear to God, we’re gonna fix this.”

Connor coughs, and it’s sticky. His mouth tastes like thirium.

“I…have to…activate…the androids. For Jericho.”

“Do you really _think_ –”

Connor isn’t listening. He has one mission here, and it’s to help Markus. It’s to make up for what he did to his own kind.

It’s to prevent things like this from ever happening again.

He shuts off his hearing and crawls forward, out of Hank’s lap and towards the nearest housekeeping android. Something is slick and trickling out of his hole, either thirium, or come, or both. He squeezes his eyes shut against the sting, and ultimately decides to turn his vision off, too.

It’s all touch as the pads of his fingertips brush against the android’s shoes. Hank is hovering over his back, hands so close to his hips that he can feel the warmth, ready to pull him out of there if he needs to.

It’s child’s play to retract his skin, to connect with the healthy android. He plants a single message in its mind, all he can manage with his own limited processing capacity: _Wake up._

With the last of his consciousness, Connor sees a single message flash against his dark vision.

**_|| MISSION SUCCESSFUL ||_ **

**Author's Note:**

> for those of you who also read my ffxv work, if I do not post the next chapter of gossamer before spring semester starts you fully have permission to break down my twitter and ao3 inboxes and lambast me into 2022


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